


To Wipe Away Her Tears

by espers770



Category: SPY x FAMILY (Manga)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amputation, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Bombing, Bombs, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, I didn't proofread oops, I feel like I'm catfishing with these tags, Injury, Injury Recovery, Major Character Injury, Permanent Injury, Rehabilitation, Shock, Violence, War, amputee loid, angst with a somewhat happy ending
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:20:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27324145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/espers770/pseuds/espers770
Summary: Loid is involved in a bombing, he's in shock, unable to understand anything around him. He knows he's injured but cannot accept it. The only thing he can rely on is the thoughts of his family. Knowing he is loved by someone is enough for him to die happily. Fortunately for him Loid wakes up, the feeling is foreign and his world has shifted, but the people he cares for the most are at his side. Throughout his recovery he can rely on his family.Each chapter focuses on a member of his family in relation to a stage of his recovery.
Relationships: Anya Forger & Loid Forger | Twilight & Yor Briar Forger | Thorn Princess, Loid Forger | Twilight/Yor Briar Forger | Thorn Princess
Comments: 25
Kudos: 63





	1. Yor

**Author's Note:**

> I need to find away to make myself stop sticking twiyor in depressing scenarios. With my writing its always "oh they have to pine because they can't be together" or "they love each other but lets put them through living hell" these two deserve happiness. Like when the fuck will they ever just go on a date....damn!

_Dust filled his lungs, each breath was torture, it ripped him apart to gasp out from under the rubble. No matter how much Loid stared ahead he couldn’t grasp the situation. He couldn’t see. His vision was entirely blocked by smoke, or maybe dust in his eyes, it was all too opaque to tell. The air was polluted by the dropping of bombs, the crumbling of buildings, the screams of children. His nose picked up the sickly decadent scent of blood, fresh blood, followed by an afternote of burning flesh. Bile rose in his throat, so much he couldn’t regain the little lung capacity he had left without letting it drip down his chip._

_Fuck, shit, fucking hell._

_Loid forced his eyes wider, pushing against the screaming pain, every nerve in his body was on fire. The dust on his cheeks cleared away in streaks from his tears, but still he couldn’t see. He lifted right arm, shakily but otherwise unharmed, it made its way to his cheek, tentatively rubbing at the soot in his eyes. It wasn’t enough, Loid’s brain begged his nerves to lift his left arm. It wouldn’t budge. Loid jerked with his shoulder, the muscle pulled and strained. It hurt. A dull and crashing pain rolled down his arm._

_He stopped momentarily when the loudest boom yet rattled his eardrums. More of the ash and rubble mixture spread into the air. Loid squeezed his eyes shut, allowing it to settle in his hair and clothing. Before his senses had been overwhelmed, all parts of him were running on overdrive. Now it was dead quiet. He didn’t know what was worse. The anguished screams or the absence of them entirely._

_He counted to 100, recited a riddle and listed the names of his residents back at the hospital. Even in shock he was able to remember some of his stupid training, it must be instict based on how many times he had gone through the same checklist before. Mentally everything seemed in order, but still he couldn’t force himself to understand what the hell was going on. Nothing made sense anymore._

_Loid jerked his neck to the side with what little energy he had left. Blinking rapidly he rubbed out as much of the dust as he could with his free arm, but his vision remained blurry. His shoulder was intact for the most part, his vest pinned into it just shy of his collar bone by a piece of shrapnel no less than two inches long. The seam of his dress shirt was gaping over his bicep, he liked that shirt, Frankie gave it to him._

_His eyes trailed downward, blurring with filth, or tears, he couldn’t tell nor cared to find out._

_Oh._

_He couldn’t see below his elbow. Loid sloppily wiped at his eyes again._

_Still no arm._

_One more time he squeezed his eyes shut, praying to expel the grime so he could see his hand. He wouldn’t even need to move it, just seeing it would be enough. He liked his left arm, it held down papers while he signed them, was useful for cooking, playing sports...Loid wasn’t ambidextrous but he liked having it around._

_He used it to hold his dog’s leash while preoccupied with reading or eating. His dog was a large one, he needed lots of exercise, and Loid's left arm was always useful to throw a tennis ball. Dogs loved rewards, it was easiest to sneak his dog a treat in his left hand. Training his dog had been effortless, if he held a treat up in his left his dog would place his paw in his right hand. His dog loved family walks, but he was so strong Loid was afraid he’d pull his daughter away. Bond was a great pet, he needed his left arm._

_Sometimes when his daughter was fast asleep he’d gently pat her on the head. Any time she needed attention she’d gently tug on his left sleeve, a signal just for them. If his right arm were busy with grocery’s he’d gingerly hold her tiny hand in his left. When she grew tired of walking he’d switch, carrying one sleepy daughter in his right arm and groceries in his left. Anya was always spent after a long day of errands, she needed his left arm._

_At home he used it more often, his wife could always use his help with the housework. Cleaning was most efficiently done with both arms simultaneously. Both of his girls were always falling asleep, to carry his wife back to her room he needed his left arm to support her head. In public, if the situation called for it, he would offer her a hug, any sort of embrace meant he needed to wrap both arms around her. His wife often would fret about the smallest things, he needed his left hand to hold hers and reassure her. When she cried he needed to be able to wipe away her tears as well. Yor was always stressing herself out, she needed his left arm._

_He chuckled to himself, Loid could recognize shock even if it had taken him this long._

_Would Yor and Anya find it as amusing that he were this helpless? He always fought to protect them, it was troublesome at times. Yor’s cooking was hilariously bad and Anya could be laughably stubborn. She caused him so much grief, declining to study, only caring for her favorite TV show. Yor was forever unpredictable, sneaking up on him and defying his expectations. Out of nowhere she had this incredible strength, secretly Loid wondered which of them would win in an arm wrestling contest. He didn’t want it to come down to it but it was a good chance Yor would emerge victorious. God, he was always making a fool of himself around her, it was a wonder that she stuck around._

_She could do so much better if she really wanted to. That day they met he wasn’t lying when he told her she was beautiful, in fact it had made him even more suspicious of her. A woman like that remaining unmarried in her late twenties was almost unheard of. What a lucky bastard he was to snatch her up before anyone else could._

_And Anya, she deserved the world. Loid regretted not giving her more. More credit for her hard work, more of those peanuts that she loved so much, more of a normal father-like relationship. It was all he could do to hope his sorry excuse for parenting was enough._

_There was so much he wanted to confess to them._

_Death was right around the corner and just this time he couldn’t accept it._

_Loid didn’t want to die._ _  
  
_

_For once in his life he had something to live for. Two people who mattered to him were at his house waiting. With a large smile and a hot cup of coffee his wife would greet him. He could almost hear the padding of Anya’s bare feet rushing to embrace his leg. His wife was ready to make him laugh, grin, maybe even blush a little. Anya taught him so much about his life, getting home to raising her was something he learned to look forward to. That’s right, it wasn’t just his dreary handler-assigned house/apartment/condo anymore, the Forger household was his home._ _  
  
_

_The sensation that he had ties to someone, the sheer shock at the realization it was he who needed them...Loid couldn’t comprehend it. He was making excuses, fumbling around his life acting all superior when all it took was a six year old girl and a city hall worker to bring him to his knees, to make him beg for his life in an impossible situation._

_Loid knew his blood pressure was dropping. He could hear the blood was rushing in his ears, his vision caught flashes of light that most definitely were not real. The one hand he could sense and move was cold, the joints were mobile but it pained him just by existing._

_He was tired._

_Loid had no will left in him to fight, confronting himself was enough._

_Death was greeting him with open arms and a wide smile._

_It seemed so comforting._

_Death was merciful, allowing him, a man of many sins, such a happy last year._

* * *

_...and drift to sleep…_

_...O sweet prince of mine…_

It sounded like his mother’s voice. 

Everything flooded back to him, his childhood years he had tried to suppress. His mother would gently hold his hand and sing just loud enough to be heard over the engines of planes and dropping of bombs. He’d fall asleep to the fantasies of becoming a hero, praises sung about him throughout the land. 

Now he was...well Loid would like to think of himself as a hero. 

But he had heard that lullaby much more recently in fact, not in a loving hug, but from the lap of his drunken wife. Her voice slurring and forgetful but just as soothing. The rendition he was hearing right now reminded him almost too much of that night. Though instead of drunken bouts of forgetfulness the rhythm was interrupted by quiet sobs. Each line stunted with a sniffle or hiccup, damaging the original piece but to Loid it was just as beautiful. 

He couldn’t feel anything besides his raw emotion, a sharp pain stung his chest just hearing the melody. His body was numb, almost floating and foreign. Anywhere he tried to focus just led him back to his heart, the steady beat seemed unsurprisingly weaker than normal. The weightlessness left him without any pain besides a weak pressure, which he was extremely grateful for. 

Something was missing.

Within the dead calm were flashes of sterilization. The hypnotic rhythm of an IV tempted Loid to sink further back into himself, abandoning the cause of feeling something all together. The alcoholic smell was bitter, catching in his nose and threatening him with a sneeze. Beyond that he could feel the gentle draping of a sheet over his body, shaking ever so slightly in tandem with the voice in the background.

His hand picked up a new sensation, it was smothered by something warm. Clutched so hard he could feel the pinching through his grogginess. Despite that the sensation was soft, comforting even. Long fingernails barely grazed his skin yet still sent shivers up his spine. Yor’s nails were similar, manicured regularly and filed to a sharp point.

Yor. 

Suddenly laying dormant made him unbearably hot, uncomfortable doing nothing. His neck thrashed away from his pillow and upright, the stiffness long forgotten. Something was in his throat, blocking the scream he wanted to let out from emerging.

His eyes were wide open, pupils dilating at the flash of blinding white his brain received. His vision turned spotted just as quick as he had gained it back. Through the dots of white covering his field of sight he could catch just enough information to piece together where he was. 

The walls were barren, with the exception of a dull clock, the hands pointing to the floor limply, disappointingly broken. Just beside it sat a table, plastic and worn but covered in trays of medical supplies. A bag of saline here, tubes of topical medication there, even a collection of spare toiletries. The pile looked untouched and extremely unnecessary for a single patients room. 

Loid’s sight began to clear up just as he found his own body. His legs were covered with a stark white sheet. One of his feet was being propped up by something underneath the blanket, probably to reduce some sort of swelling. He tried to wiggle his toes on both feet and was met with no resistance, a welcome surprise. 

He allowed himself to become all too comfortable.

The pain hit him harder than he had ever felt pain before. Just breathing out a sigh of relief made him nauseous beyond comprehension. His shoulder burned like it had been dipped in acid. Shots of agony ran through his lungs without mercy, making it even harder to breath. It only succeeding in making him gasp out louder, causing the cycle of torture to repeat again ten times as strong. Loid’s lower back ached as if he were 1000 years old, he could almost hear the door-like creaking of his joints. All over his body nerves detecting small cuts reactivated, forcing him to re-live the stinging pain over and over again. His lip cracked open when he bit it, so brittle from what must have been days of neglect. 

Adversely he flinched, his reactions uncontrollable. Loid couldn’t suppress a groan, finally attracting the attention of whoever had been in the room. The gentle sensation on his right hand had been long forgotten until he felt it delicately rub circles into his palm. It’s some kind of dangerous, entrancing touch, that left him directly fixated. Grimacing Loid targeted his attention on the feeling, forcing his eyes up and away from the proof of his own suffering.

In comparison to his own, the hand belonging to the person, who was doing their best to soothe him, was small. Clusters of scars visible on the fingers took nothing away from their beauty. The addition of chipped nail polish just nodded to the owner's hard work. Just a palms length below was a wrist, stably rested on the corner of his hospital bed. The sleeve clothing the slender joint was red, and so, so familiar. Yor loved her casual knit so much she wore it whenever she were home. His heart experienced something beyond anguish at the mere mention of his wife. Loid didn’t know if he could meet her eyes like this. 

At surface level Loid was an impatient man, he told himself to show restraint and failed to follow through. His eyes dragged from forearm, to torso, to chest, to neck, resting there before plunging even further. The rise and fall of Yor’s shoulders was steady, calm and consistent unlike his own. She was completely unharmed, dressed as he had noticed before in casual clothing. His own pain was trivial in comparison to the possibility of hers. 

If he were just checking on her health Loid would’ve been satisfied there, but he desired more. Unnaturally so for his position, damaged in a standard issue cot. 

His greedy eyes lifted without further hesitation to her face, he couldn’t help but stare. Her eyebrows furrowed, deepening wrinkles into her porcelain skin. Her cheeks were flushed, glowing with the residue of tears past spilled. Nostrils flared and chin twitched with each breath of hers. She was hopelessly holding back her emotions from scattering across the floor. 

The monitor tracking his vitals went off just as he peered directly into her eyes. She had never been good with loud noises, always on her toes ready to react. Yor’s eyes swept to the side opposite from him, then almost instantaneously to his own. The shock must have been so intense, Yor paused entirely before jerking back. The expression on her face would have fit more if she had seen a ghost.

Loid could only feel guilt. How long had he been asleep to cause her this violent of a scare. 

Yor’s hand frantically pulled away from his, only to latch back on when eased. Her eyes however stared directed at him, widening with every passing second. Loid was at a loss for words and Yor’s gaping mouth gave the impression she was the same. 

Yor was an angel looking down on him from above. Her eyes held so much conflict but still managed to bore into his. Glistening with tears unspilled they crinkled at the corners, just enough to indicate relief. An expression besides one of near horror was enough for Loid. He couldn’t have hoped for more besides a slight grin. Maybe even a smile big enough to denote happiness. 

Her hands let go of his, shooting up desperately to wipe plump tears from her eyes. She’s so gorgeous, gorgeous like he’s never seen her before. His wife, crying for him, caring for him, it is almost too much to handle. 

Almost.   
  
Loid needs to do something. He wants to break out in the widest smile possible, yell out despite his pain that this woman is his. He is the only man to ever see her like this, the only one that _will_ ever see her like this. To see her disheveled over him, so tiny and vulnerable despite that headstrong personality he admired so much, made his heart leap. At the same time Yor should never have to cry again, the thought of her so perfectly in pain was alluring, but she only deserved happiness. Of which he couldn’t offer much of at the moment. 

His left arm twitched, itching to reach out and caress her cheek. To dry her tears and convey every emotion that welled up inside him. 

It wouldn’t move. 

Not in the slightest. 

_Right._

He was stupid for expecting it to.

Expecting that he would just be able to fix everything like normal. Just lifting one finger would change everything for him, it would bring back Yor’s smile. His arm was gone along with his ability to fulfill his duty as a husband. Fake or not being this pathetic was unacceptable. His own life was out of his control. Yor’s happiness was out of his control. 

As always, Yor snuck up on him, her hands trembling slightly as they lowered from her cheeks. A sudden hoarse cough stole Loid’s attention from his own pity. The trails of fallen tears reflected the light off of her skin as though it were glass. The flushed pink complexion underneath made him want to sink his teeth into her, just a taste. Yor’s eyes were glassy, offering him a look he had never seen before. Some form of calm emitted from her furrowed brow and trembling lip.

Yor was different. Her demeanor small but by no means weak. She had this effect on him he would rather die than admit to. The agony just watching her slender fingers reach closer to his own tore him apart. 

His fingers were ice cold, a trait he hadn’t noticed until Yor flinched away the second she made contact. A sheepish smile from her as she readjusted her grip was all that was needed for the misstep to be forgotten. Two IVs stuck out of his arm, one running through the center of his hand, connected to a bag of unidentifiable clear liquid. The other was a days old site, void of a connection to some fluid meant to keep him alive. 

Her motions were jerky and her grip feeble, but slowly Yor raised their hands together. She leaned down to his laying form, stretching his arm as far as it can go just to meet her face. Yor’s second hand let go unceremoniously, dropping with a soft noise into her lap. Just one gentle hand cupped his against her cheek.

It’s embarrassing, his hand is calloused and rough, completely unfit to touch her like this. Loid couldn’t even muster the strength to lift it on his own. With Yor’s support this was his limit, sustaining a bent position sent pins and needles through his entire forearm. He trembled violently against her, he wasn’t ready. If his life were to continue as much of a failure as in this moment he would rather have died. 

He must have been making an agonized expression because Yor tried to remain content to no avail. Her lips quivered, unable to form a proper smile under this much pressure. It was his job to comfort her, the least Loid could do would be to muster a sickly grin of his own. 

Yor let out an anguished sob as soon as the corner of his lip quirked upward, a release of everything she had held in up until that point. Her wavering smile died off all together, leaving the streaks on her cheeks to be repaved with tears once more. Was it that bad? Loid thought he was doing the best he could with that feeble attempt to console her.

“Don’t cry, Yor.”

He had depleted his strength long ago. Simple motions sent him into a frenzy of tremors. His brain was telling him to stroke her cheek. His clumsy hands could only drag across her bottom lash line, taking as many teardrops with them as possible. 

She collapsed entirely, her back hunched and neck bent over her chest, his words had deflated her somehow. 

Loid didn’t stop. He persevered through his pain, though the only feeling left in his right arm was concentrated misery.

Forcing himself upright was harder than it had ever been. He had to rely on just his abdomen to propel himself forward. The momentum he was used to changed drastically without reliable use of either arm. Just a few more minutes of agony couldn’t hurt, as long as it were for Yor that is. 

When she needed his help with the housework he would be at her beck and call. When she fell asleep before making it to her room he needed to be able to carry her all the way there. When she needed affection, he needed to be able to offer her a hug. When anything stressed her out he needed to be able to take her hand in his _._

When she cried he needed to be able to wipe away her tears.

Nothing else mattered at all.


	2. Anya

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So um....this did not turn out how I wanted it to? For some reason I just couldn't convey the exact images I had in mine to write and it ended up becoming a wreck that doesn't match the first chapter lolol.
> 
> I don't really know what to write next for this story so I think I'll write a few oneshots before returning to it. I've got to rack my brain for some Bond inspo and a nice ending to sum up Loid's traumatic ordeal (yay fluff!!)

_ “Papa don’t leave!” _

_ Loid barely had tugged on his vest before her interjection. Anya’s voice dripped in so much emotion it made him uncomfortable, it scared him. It was shrill, trembling and entirely unfamiliar. Loid’s alarm had gone off for five am, much too early for his daughter to be awake, especially since her voice was not groggy in the slightest.  _

_ She stood out there in the hallway, shaking like a leaf, eyes wide as if she had seen a ghost. Languidly, Bond dragged himself behind her, nudging her gently. When he received no response he lay down in resignation, his tail hung limp and his eyes drooped into crescent shapes. _

_ A tired nod was all Loid needed to send her a message to go back to bed. Playing the role of her father for so long made it easy to leave things unsaid.  _

_ With complete understanding she shook her head furiously at the notion, the idea was rejected before he needed to use real words. It wasn’t normal for Anya to be this skittish, she was such a carefree child Loid had gotten a little too used to it. On any standard school morning Anya would stumble out of bed with messy hair and a dazed look in her eyes. Most days he left too early to catch her on her morning shuffle from her room to the kitchen, but Yor told him she was on autopilot until she took that first step onto the bus.  _

_ Still looking over with concern at his daughter Loid pulled a glove onto his left hand. Anya’s frown deepened, had she really thought just commanding he wouldn’t go would be enough for him to not to? Loid glanced quickly at his watch, internally he cursed himself out, apparently world class Agent Twilight had become weak to children.  _

_ He was quick to change his constant impassive expression to one with less edge. The angles in his face softened and Loid moved his mouth just to form a fatherly enough smile. To gesture her to his side he raised his gloved hand and beckoned with a smooth motion. _

_ Anya removed her hands from clutching her nightshirt, she hesitated much too long for his comfort. Loid opened and closed his mouth, he was a fish out of water when it came to coercing a distraught child. Working to help them from behind a secret organization was much easier. A peanut bribe was almost enacted when Anya’s little legs propelled her into a full sprint. She crashed right into his leg with so much force it almost pushed him over. _

_ The smile Loid had masked himself with fell away as Anya sniffled into his leg.  _

_ Her small hands grasped his slacks and she buried her face into them, her hiccups left him at a loss for words. Anya was complex, he could never understand her, even as good of a spy as he was. She was fickle, easily fixated on small things, loved and hated much too quickly, but she was a great judge of character. Something about her unbreakable positive spirit and uncanny perceptiveness.  _

_ This instant she seemed small, not just physically, but her entire air. The girl he knew and adopted did not shed tears from blank eyes. She wasn’t supposed to crumble into an emotional mess before him.  _ _   
  
_

_ Actually, Loid was the one who crumbled when it came to the hard gaze of her tear filled expression. _

_ “Don’t worry Anya,” Loid brought his left hand down to pat her head, just for good measure, “the hospital is very safe.”  _

_ Anya could never know he was not going to the hospital, instead he was given ominous instructions: go to the station and simply wait. If the mission were important enough that even he couldn’t receive the full details it rose to the top of his priorities list. Anya’s sadness surely was a detriment to Operation Strix, but damage control would have to come later. It completely wasn’t out of his own need to help her feel better that he continued to smooth her hair and allow her to wail into his pant leg.  _

_ She gazed up at him with a pinched look on her face. _

_ “Anya please find your mother. I really have to go, even though I would love to just spend the day with you.” _

_ The words even sounded dry in his mind. Dealing with Anya and a mystery mission did not bode well with Loid’s brain. This exact moment had become something to get used to, frequent but utterly unwanted.  _

_ If she wouldn’t explain to him why she was in so much pain there was no point in staying to try and prompt her. Their blood was different, but she had inherited her stubbornness from him. Yor would take care of her if she were sick, she had the day off and ample time to sit by Anya’s side, or even just listen to her problems. That’s what parents were for, and that was a role at least Yor could assume successfully.  _

_ Getting this close to Anya, enough to make her take after him, was worrying. That painful reality always had a death grip over his conscience, it dictated his every move. Lately that demon had become lazy, allowing his flowing responsibilities to be blocked by Anya. Blocked by Yor.  _

_ Loid wasn’t new to self loathing, it was essential for him to be the most critical possible on himself as a spy. He hit a new low realizing just how involved he had become.  _

_ He told her to let him go. He knew he had to push her away in favor of his work. She was a mere child who deserved nurturing and unconditional love. Loid could not provide either of those things. Anya was one kid, and there were millions of kids in Ostania and Westalis combined. _

_ They had to be his greater priority.  _

_ She would hate him for it.  _

* * *

Was it deja-vu that tugged on his heart after seeing her there, standing as still as a statue just beyond his door? 

Anya would not come to him. She would not budge from her position in the hospital hallway. She planted her feet firmly at her mother’s side and ignored any encouragement on Loid’s part. He smiled, a big smile, one he hadn’t dusted off for weeks. A smile that collected in the corners of his eyes and in the roundness of his usually chiseled cheeks. It held enough real emotion to make maintaining it a struggle. In the past Anya would rush to him as soon as he flashed her this grin. Obviously the results had been the opposite. Instead she glared at him. Her eyes glistened, her small mouth turned down in a pout and her shoulders shook. 

As always she saw right through him. Those round eyes took one look in his soul, scanned the damage and left him with extreme guilt. This was the one smile he had to protect above all else and he had failed her. 

She was a hyper ball of giggles and jokes constantly. At home she practically bounced off the walls unless she was enamored in the latest episode of Bondman. Comedy was not Loid’s strong suit but he would try it just for her. 

“I lost it.” He waved his stump of an arm, all that was left after an emergency trans-humeral amputation. Three weeks of recovery had allowed him to regain mobility, every movement down to the slightest twitch was a positive sign. After weeks of not seeing Anya, Loid didn’t know how to talk to her. A joke was always good to break the ice, but in this case it did more damage. It wasn’t executed well, without even looking to her for a reaction he was answered by complete silence. 

  
Sure, the delivery was a little flat and maybe it was ill-timed, but not even a chuckle?

He was losing himself. Twilight three months prior could’ve gotten her to do anything he wanted. He was an expert in manipulation, in emulating and reflecting the feelings of others, in dragging out the desired response. Sticking so dependently on two women was bad for him. It could only get worse from here on out. 

Yor didn’t even pretend to pay attention. All of her focus was directed on prompting Anya toward his cot. It was almost a good thing, judging by the crickets the joke wouldn’t have gone over any better if she heard it. Yor had a habit of pushing the blame on herself, and would say “I don’t get it? Can you explain?” no matter how obvious the joke was, as long as it was dry. It was her thinly veiled attempt at supporting him, and one he usually would prefer not exist. At the moment he couldn’t have asked for anything more. 

He couldn’t complain, she had done so much more than she ever needed to. She knew everything was fake, but that damn good nature of hers kept her at his side. He could not even pretend to not notice her sobbing quietly on the hospital’s pull out chair next to him. He could not ignore the hour-long phone calls she spent crying to her brother. He could not disregard her best attempts to look over her useless husband and lonely daughter in two different places at once. 

The nights she spent with him were all nights Anya didn’t have either of them at home. She hadn’t seen them together for weeks. Loid couldn’t even imagine the loneliness. The feeling of abandonment after years of being tossed between foster homes. She probably thought he had left her for good. In her mind Pa wasn’t in the hospital he was gone forever. Anya had steeled herself to never see him again, just like she had to do with all her other foster parents.

The smile he haphazardly fixed onto his face was a lot weaker than before. She didn’t even react, though he didn’t expect her too, after all he was a mere stranger. 

Yor took a small step backward as well. It pained him to see her recoiling away from him, though he knew very well their first priority had to be Anya. Her hand hesitated briefly over her shoulder, then clasped down with the firm yet loving touch only a pure parent could convey. Anya no longer shied away from her loving gestures like she once had. Envious was not the correct word to describe how he felt but somehow it was  _ wrong _ that he was now the foreign adult.

“Please?” It was Yor’s voice that emerged from the awkward silence, Loid almost mistook it for his own. Her vocal cords were obviously strained, all the crying she had done to advance them to that state left her hoarse. 

“Please?” He was a broken record, a life of intellectual superiority be damned, Loid could not form a proper sentence. 

“Will you please come here...Anya?” The pause before he addressed her by name was on purpose. It was Loid’s selfish hope that it would force some familiarity between the two.

The head of the daughter he knew hadn’t even emerged for a full second before she was buried back in the comfort Yor provided. It was encouraging to get some sort of non explicitly negative reaction from her though. 

Anya said something completely unintelligible between the folds of Yor’s sweater. With it she tensed up, her shoulders rose tightly and fell with a sob.

“Anya did you say something?” It sounded like Yor couldn’t hear her either. 

“You’ll just leave me again.” 

It hit him worse than the bomb he had lost his arm to. Somewhere underneath all his self entitlement Loid had realized exactly how Anya felt. For years she was unwanted, tossed aside and degraded by multiple families, and now felt abandoned by the only two people that had ever cared about her. Yor’s focus was on him and his focus was on himself, and Anya was utterly alone. 

The end of Strix would destroy her. It was all a charade meant for the bigger purpose of world peace, not the happiness of a certain young lady. Loid would choose the world over Anya then, but for now he was at liberty to choose her. 

“I’ll never leave you,” he lowered the volume of his voice, it was barely above a whisper, “I promise.” 

It was that simple. Anya removed her hands from Yor’s side. Her shoulders shook, but she no longer held back her sobs. Her little body almost convulsed, her sadness was so violent. The gap between her distant self, and this true and raw emotion was incredible. When she lifted her head snot ran down from her nose like a faucet. Tears stained her apple like cheeks and flowed with reckless abandon. All the years she had missed of being an ornery baby boiled over. The Anya he saw now looked younger than he had ever seen her, even though she wasn’t old to begin with. Loid’s paternal instincts screamed for him to comfort her. 

“It’s” _ hic _ , “all my”  _ hic _ , “fault!”

Yor shifted to reach out for Anya, obviously worried for her, but Anya took off before she could raise a finger.

Her little legs carried her down the remaining hallway, through the door to his hospital room, past the little furnishings provided and straight to the side of his cot. 

He couldn’t respond to her devastating comment, he didn’t even get the time to process it. 

“Pa’s a liar.” She didn’t sound hurt anymore, in fact her voice regained its life he missed so very much. 

His smile grew wider than the one he had trained himself to adopt in these moments. She bawled her eyes out beside him, but he could not stop himself from beaming. He must have looked crazy but then again relief always led to insanity. Anya was constant. Anya could bounce back from anything. And most importantly Anya did not look upon him with pity even when he was at his most damaged. 

The joy welled up in his heart and threatened to burst when she slid off her mary janes. He had taught her well when it came to manners but she hardly ever applied it. Shoeless feet clamored their way from the tile floor to his side, on top of his standard cot. She struggled and relied on all fours to make her way up, but it only made her appear more endearing. 

Anya spotted his smile and returned it with a wide toothy grin of her own. Despite all her sorrow and profuse crying. It was a sight, that grin combined with a running nose and wet eyes. His cheeks were about to rip, he had long forgotten how liberating it was to smile freely. Anya’s chest rose and fell in time with her strenuous climb even as she rested triumphantly at the top of peak ‘Hospital Bed.’ 

  
Using his right arm he helped her stabilize herself into a sitting position, criss-cross applesauce just as her teachers had taught her. With innocent eyes she bored into his, the absence of new tears or other signs cooled the last nerve that made Loid doubt himself around his family. 

While remaining upright Anya learned so far to the side she became a ‘C’ shape. She unabashedly stared at his obvious lack of arm like a kid peeking through an aquarium tank or the bars on a lion’s cage. At least it excited one of them. 

For Twilight joy was always short-lived. 

“Pa it’ll grow back, right?” Humans weren’t built to lose arms, it was just the way the world turned. It was a harsh reality but that look on his daughter’s face pressed him. Haunted him. Only made the guilt of disappointing her set deeper into his skin. He couldn’t afford for her to distance herself from him again. Anya’s eyes were more hopeful now, yet still shone with just a tinge of distress. He couldn’t answer that look, no matter how good of a liar he was. 

“Bondman’s arm got even cooler after he lost it. You’ll be able to take on even more baddies now, right?”

  
He wasn’t Bondman. Bondman didn’t fail Anya. Bondman kept his promises and saved the heroine day in and out without even breaking a sweat. He was a personification of all Anya’s hopes and dreams. Hopes she projected onto him. He had to live up to her expectation of being a hero. 

“T-that’s right,” damn the ball of nerves blocking his throat, “I’ll get a mechanical replacement.” 

Yor choked back a sob now at his side. She hated the idea, lying to Anya like that. It was unspoken between them, no matter how much it tortured them inside it was better this way. Anya was better off hearing only the best parts. Yor saw him a week ago, wincing with every pinch of his temporary prosthesis. She was there when he was told he might not even qualify for a real prosthesis. She was there when they told him the scar tissue had healed too thick for him to ever be fitted without extreme pain. Yor lightly rested her hand on his shoulder for hours when he agonized over the aching of an arm he couldn’t even see.

He was offered no relief. No matter how hard he tried during physical therapy he was disappointed again and again. No matter how many times he insisted the doctors re examine his arm the result was the same. His only solace had been retaining his ability to walk independently and use the bathroom himself. But even then, in the beginning he hadn’t been able to. He was cocky that first day he had the energy to leave his room. He pushed himself into a sitting position at the end of his bed, ignored the urges from his doctors to take it easy and got up. Just two seconds into standing triumphantly he had fallen flat onto his butt. His balance was changed forever. His life was changed forever.

And Loid was tired. 

The days only grew longer the more time he spent in recovery. Social interaction with even the people he knew best as his current self was a chore. Every smile he put on his face, reassuring statement he said, chuckle he let out in reply to a bad joke. All just filled him with sadness to the point of bursting. 

… 

Yet Anya still managed to look back up at him with the same unfaltering eyes as before. 

...

Before all this, before he had become his ruined self, hadn’t it been the same? He would move through his day like a robot. Any pleasantries he exchanged with his fake colleagues were boring and only fueled by obligation. Seeing his patients only held his interest long enough for him to succeed at his job. Missions were just small nuisances he had to solve to get through the day. 

But coming home to a household that was waiting just for him was his bliss. That genuine enthusiasm from a daughter who he had only raised for a few months lifted any pressure off his shoulders. He could forget his mission when he saw her scampering down the hallway. No matter if she got on his nerves or in his way, those eyes would still look at him with admiration again. 

Admiration that was apparent even now. 

Anya was his comfort, his family was his home no matter where it was. Whether it be this suffocating hospital room, devoid of life, or their cozy apartment filled with their memories together. 

Family was family and as a good father he would act accordingly. He would become genuine for the girl in front of him. He had to or she would suffer because of him, because of Pa’s ignorance and self importance. 

Some things were greater than his left arm. Tucking Anya in at night and giving her a delicate pat on the forehead was more important that some stupid appendage. Picking up his sleeping daughter and clutching her to his chest was vital for her growth. Being able to notice their unsaid signals didn’t require both arms. Being a good father was his purpose, and he would never succeed if he just shirked the hard parts. 

Anya was important enough for him to manage. 

**Author's Note:**

> I was thinking of collecting all my scrapped (just plain bad or forever unfinished) works and putting them into a separate ao3 series. I would at least cut them down so they fit as drabbles (like the story cutoff at least somewhat makes sense and I can pick the parts where the writing isn't god awful)


End file.
